I knew he’d come back, men like him always do. They lose something they never deserved, and suddenly it becomes the only thing they can’t live without. Not because they understand its worth—but because someone else might. I’d been aware of him for weeks. Lingering where he wasn’t wanted. I let it happen. I wanted to see how she handled him. Turns out— she doesn’t bend. The alley was narrow, damp with the slow drizzle that had started minutes ago. The light overhead flickered faintly, casting uneven shadows along the walls. I stood at the entrance, half-shadowed, rain settling across my shoulders as I watched. Listened. He was too close to her, like he still belonged there. “I told you, it didn’t mean anything,” he pushed, his voice edged with desperation. “I was drunk—I wasn’t thinking straight—” Predictable. She stepped back. Twice. Clear. Intentional. The rain had already begun to cling to her—thin fabric darkening, sticking just enough to outline what it shouldn’t. Her hair, slightly damp, clung to her temple, brushing along her cheek in soft, disobedient strands. There was nothing delicate about the way she stood, arms drawn in around herself—not out of fear, but control. Guarding what was hers. Holding her ground. Untouchable. And still— vulnerable in a way that made something in my chest tighten. “It’s over,” she said. Final. The way it should be. But he didn’t take it. Of course, he didn’t. He stepped forward again, closing the space she created, pressing into it like her boundaries didn’t exist. She stepped back— and hit the wall behind her. “I said it’s over,” she repeated, sharper now. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. That was it. Something in me snapped. I moved without thinking. By the time he realized someone else was there, I was already on him. My hand clamped onto his shoulder, hard enough to turn him around in one sharp motion. “It’s pretty clear,” I said, my voice low, steady, “that she wants you to leave.” He frowned, irritation flashing immediately. “Who the hell—” I stepped closer, cutting him off, my grip tightening. “Or do you need me to make it clearer for you?” Hesitation was creeping in where his confidence had been. My gaze dropped to his hand on her. Then lifted back to his face. “Let go.” He didn’t. So I made him. My hand moved to his wrist, twisting just enough to force the release. Not breaking—just reminding. He let go. A sharp breath left him as I shoved his arm away, stepping between them without hesitation, placing myself directly in front of her. Now— he had to look at me. “You’re done here,” I said, my tone even, but heavier now. “You’ve said what you needed to say. She gave you her answer.” A beat. “And you’re still standing.” “This is between her and me—” he tried again, weaker this time. “No,” I cut in, sharper now. “It stopped being that the second you put your hands on her.” Silence. My hand tightened around his arm, enough to make him groan. Because it would be easy. To end this differently. To paint his face red like I’d already imagined. But I didn’t. Yet. “Walk away,” I told him quietly, my voice dropping into something darker. “While you still can.” That did it. He hesitated, glanced past me once— then stepped back. And left. For a moment, I stayed where I was. Breathing slow. Letting the tension bleed out just enough. Then I turned. And— for a second— everything else stopped. She stood there, rain settling over her, fabric clinging, hair damp against her skin, arms still drawn in around herself like a barrier she refused to drop. She had never looked like this before. Unguarded. It hit wrong. My chest tightened—just once—but enough to make me notice. I stepped closer without thinking. My gaze dropped to her wrist. The one he touched. My hand lifted— then stopped halfway. I caught myself. Fingers curling slowly into a fist instead, the movement subtle but deliberate as I pulled it back to my side. I needed control. For the first time— because of her. My jaw tightened slightly before I spoke. “He won’t come near you again.” Then, lower— “I'll make sure of it."